Merry and Bright
by Carolina Nadeau
Summary: Newlyweds Harold and Marian Hill celebrate their very first Christmas Eve together, and find that the holidays have become a lot more joyful now that they have each other.


Although it had been two weeks since she had returned from her honeymoon in Des Moines, as far as Marian Paroo Hill was concerned, the honeymoon was far from over. Marriage to her beloved Harold Hill had proved to be every bit as wonderful as she had hoped, and now, on Christmas Eve, she felt prepared to have the merriest Christmas of her life.

These first few weeks together had been a whirlwind of domestic bliss. Despite the challenges of living together, husband and wife were more than willing to work through whatever problems might arise before they turned into a full-blown argument, and they had even managed to develop a rather harmonious system for carrying out household chores in an efficient manner. Harold had indeed prepared some delightful surprises for her in their house, too, including a music room complete with a brand-new piano, and an assortment of bookshelves on which she could keep and eventually expand her personal collection of books. The unpacking of her belongings had hardly seemed a chore at all when it afforded her the opportunity to take advantage of these wonderful new assets.

Marian was also thrilled that she had experienced minimal fuss over the issue of maintaining her job at the library after her marriage, a privilege that many women did not enjoy. Although her marriage to Harold had catapulted Marian from struggling financially to being quite well-off, her mother and brother still needed her support, and she wouldn't have felt right doing that with money that her husband had earned. She had reduced her schedule somewhat so that she would have the time to attend to her responsibilities as a housewife, and she had cut her piano lessons to one night a week when her mother had offered to pick up the remainder, but most of all Marian was relieved simply to be able to continue the work that she loved so dearly. For, as much as she loved and adored Harold, she just wasn't the kind of woman who could be happy with being a wife and nothing more – which, her husband assured her, was part of why he loved her so much.

And there were, of course, _other _wonderful things that came with being married as well. Even though the demands of day-to-day life meant that they could hardly spend all their time flirting or kissing or making love, they did those things often enough that even in public Marian often found herself slipping into a blushing, dreamy haze as she recalled their most recent passionate encounter or anticipated the next.

Their new freedom to express their love in whatever way that they wished had not overshadowed or diminished the previous state of their relationship in the least; it was just that now, their long, lively conversations had a marked tendency to lead them to the bedroom. To say that Marian didn't mind this development in their relationship was an understatement – though she wasn't nearly as bold about it as he was, her craving for and enjoyment of such amorous activities was well on par with her husband's, to his utter delight. Every time they made love had proven to be as exciting and passionate as the first – although Marian was already learning that there could be much more to it than what they had done on that first night.

Even in the short time since they had first made love, Harold had begun to carefully introduce her to some of the many delightful, less-conventional pleasures that a man and woman could share – and though it was still hard for her not to be shy about these things, it was intriguing to know that they had barely begun to explore the many ways in which they could love each other. In some of the more scandalous books that she had recently consulted when attempting to understand physical intimacy, she had read about certain shocking acts and practices that she had suspected simply reflected the wanton fantasies of the authors; it did not seem likely that real people had ever engaged in such activities, and at the time Marian felt certain that she would never feel any desire to make love to her husband in anything other than the most _ordinary _manner.

With Harold as her husband, however, she was discovering that such variations were not only far from fictional, but they were not inherently wicked, and could be every bit as intimate and loving as the more traditional lovemaking they had shared on their wedding night. While Harold had, naturally, taken the lead when it came to introducing these things, Marian was surprised to realize that she was even starting to have some rather interesting erotic fantasies of her own, although she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of acting on them quite yet. Even at her most amorous and daring, of course, she couldn't keep herself from blushing afterward – but Harold had made quite certain his wife knew that he found her blushing innocence both adorable and alluring.

Now, Christmas and all its festive excitement seemed to be the jewel crowning this extended honeymoon of theirs. When he had proposed to her, Harold had mentioned how much he wanted to spend their first Christmas together as husband and wife, and both of them had risen to the challenge of preparing a Christmas that would be perfect in every way. Although they both had been very busy between Marian's library work, the band's rehearsals, and the various delectable "distractions" that so often came up whenever they had free time at home, they had still managed to lavishly trim their Christmas tree and deck their cozy house in seasonal splendor, as well as helping Mrs. Paroo to do the same. Ever since the untimely passing of Mr. Paroo and Winthrop's subsequent depression, Christmas had not felt all that jolly for Marian's family, but this year, all that had changed thanks to Harold.

Harold had thrown himself into the celebration of Christmas with exceptional gusto, contributing ideas for the town-wide festivities that went far beyond the scope of a bandleader's responsibilities. Even Mayor Shinn did not seem to mind this, however, and to Marian's amazement, it seemed that the older man had perhaps, _almost_, developed a sort of grudging respect that occasionally resembled liking for her husband. If Harold Hill had awakened the townsfolk's spirits in July, if he had renewed their faith in music in October, then he had set them positively aglow in December. The December 22nd festival, featuring, among many other attractions, the boys' band's very first real parade, had been an event more spectacular than any that River City had ever experienced in its quiet little history. It was still a marvel to Marian even after all these months, the way that Harold had such a skill for bringing color and excitement into the lives of these hardheaded, plainspoken Iowans – what a bizarre phenomenon it was that such love had developed between a con man and the community he had attempted to swindle!

Of course, she knew she shouldn't have been so surprised that the River City-ziens adored him so – if she, the woman who had distrusted him more than any other and had been so ready and eager to bring him down, was now the one person who loved him most of all, then maybe anything was possible.

xxx

On Christmas Eve, Marian was in the dining room setting the table for their dinner when she heard Harold enter the front door amid the bluster of cold wind and the rustling of paper.

As she always did when he came home, Marian ran to Harold at the door and kissed him joyfully – even though they were now married and spent more time together than apart, she still felt the same rush of excitement whenever he was near, and she couldn't resist greeting him as soon as she could manage it. However, her task was made exceptionally difficult tonight by the large parcel that the music professor had brought home with him this night, which made reaching his lips almost impossible.

"Why, what on Earth is that you're holding?" the librarian asked as she helped hang up her husband's snow-flecked hat and scarf.

Grinning, Harold placed the package on the hallway table, unfolding the brown wrappings.

"Well, I couldn't help but overhear some of the boys in the band pining over these slot car things – your brother in particular. I was worried that I wouldn't get this package in time for Christmas, but, what do you know, it was finally there today!"

Wide-eyed, Marian examined the box of the state-of-the-art toy – it looked to be complicated, perhaps expensive, and the sort of thing for which a ten-year-old boy would give his right arm.

"Winthrop is going to love this!" she exclaimed. "I never would have even known that such a thing existed, and I'm sure Mama wouldn't, either."

"As it turns out, there are legitimate uses for my knack for discerning just what people want most," Harold told her with a wink. "Christmas has been an especially enjoyable challenge."

"I have to say, you've intrigued me, dear!" Marian laughed, placing a defiant hand on her hip. "Were you able to figure out what I wanted most?"

"You'll have to be the judge of that tomorrow morning, but... I think so." As he closed the closet door, he raised his head suddenly, sniffing the air. "Did you make roast chicken?" he asked.

"More than that," his wife assured him as she ushered him into the dining room.

Harold's eyes lit up when he saw the feast she had laid out for them, and she felt very pleased with herself. Marian knew it was silly for a woman of her age to feel so triumphant over a little cooking, but she had hardly ever prepared an entire dinner during the many years that she had lived with her mother, and tonight was her most daring culinary adventure thus far in their marriage.

As they would be eating Christmas dinner at her mother's house tomorrow, Marian had taken Christmas Eve as an opportunity to prepare an elaborate dinner for the two of them, and the pleasant aromas wafted through the house. She had even lit candles, laid out a rich green table runner, and placed a holly centerpiece on the table in order to set a properly festive mood.

Such a banquet seemed to demand that the master and mistress of the house sit at opposite ends of the table, but the newlywed Hills did not even consider such a preposterous separation. As they always did, they sat close enough together that they could touch whenever they pleased, making Marian's fancy table setting a bit of an inconvenience. It was a lovely inconvenience, though, Harold assured her when he had to get up and walk around the table to reach the mashed potatoes.

"I guess I was a little excessive tonight," she admitted sheepishly. "But, well, doesn't Christmas make people feel that way?"

Harold gave her a wry grin. "I'd say it most certainly does – and I'd prefer this kind of delicious excess over, say, having to watch the Ladies' Dance Committee perform _The Twelve Days of Christmas _again in such an excruciating, excessive fashion –"

Marian admonished him with a light tap on the shoulder. "You shouldn't talk like that, it isn't nice!" she scolded, although the fact that she was laughing hard enough to shake the table proved that her heart wasn't exactly in her words.

"You're thinking about it again, aren't you? Let me guess – 'six geese a-laying'?" He could barely even finish the sentence before breaking down into laughter himself, doubling over with his hand clutching at his abdomen.

Marian leaned her head against his shoulder, helpless with mirth. "Oh, don't remind me! I was thinking 'eight maids a-milking', but you're right, that one was worse...!"

They laughed until their sides hurt, until they could barely breathe, until they both had to take large gulps of water to avoid an embarrassing case of the hiccups. When Marian was finally able to look up at him again without bursting immediately into another bout of giggles, she brushed the tears from her eyes and declared: "It's fortunate that we were able to keep from doing that while they were actually performing! I don't know how we managed it, all things considered."

"Oh, I know," Harold replied, his shoulders shaking a little with renewed laughter. "I was holding my breath, biting my tongue, _anything _to keep myself from laughing. When they put on those top hats, I nearly fell over..."

At that point, all hope of returning to ordinary conversation was entirely out of the question, and finishing up dinner took them an unusually long time that night.

xxx

Although they usually spent their after-dinner time together in the parlor or music room, Harold and Marian were too busy tonight to take a rest so early. While Harold had darted off to their bedroom to finish his gift wrapping, Marian was occupied in the kitchen baking gingerbread cookies. It was something that her mother had done on Christmas Eve as long as Marian could remember, and something that she had enjoyed helping with ever since she was old enough. This first Christmas Eve in her own house did make her feel a little sad for all of the childhood traditions that she'd finally left behind – yet it was joyful, as well, knowing that she and Harold would have all their own traditions to establish as they built their life together.

And there was always that lovely little dream to consider, that maybe, a few Christmases from now, there might be her own little boy or girl beside her, standing up on a stepstool to help her mix and pour and measure... She knew, realistically, that she was getting ahead of herself to be thinking of her future family. After all, they were still newlyweds, and they had both agreed that they wanted at least a little while to get to know each other as husband and wife before they took such a major step as having children. If there was ever a time for sentimentality, however, it was Christmas Eve, and tonight Marian allowed herself to dream of those lively, curly-haired children that had been a distant longing in her mind ever since she'd seen for the first time how wonderful Harold was with her brother.

It occurred to her that her mother, baking gingerbread cookies with Winthrop a few streets over, might have been thinking about those same imaginary children right now – almost immediately after Marian and Harold had returned from their honeymoon, Mrs. Paroo had made sure her desire for grandchildren was made known at every possible opportunity. Her mother had certainly not been secretive over how dearly she wished to become a grandmother ever since Marian had reached adulthood and had frequently used this argument over the years when urging her daughter to give one fellow or another a chance, so now that her daughter was married at last, she wasn't prepared to wait much longer. The librarian felt rather grateful that her brother was still so young – if Mrs. Paroo hadn't still had a child of her own to raise, it was likely that she would have been even more forceful about this matter!

After a while Marian heard Harold's footsteps descending the stairs, amid the rustling of wrapped boxes, and she smiled in amusement as she wound up the egg timer. Harold seemed to thrive under the pressure that resulted from saving important tasks for the very last minute, and he did it habitually, a tendency which drove the fastidious librarian nearly mad. Yet as much as he could make her fret, he always came through in the end, whether it was with a parade or his laundry – another wholesomely applied side effect of decades spent scheming, she supposed.

When Marian re-entered the parlor to join him after putting the cookies in the oven, she was met with the startling, humorous sight of her husband sitting beside the Christmas tree, poking and prodding the gifts that she had bought for him. He noticed her at the very second that he lifted a package to his ear to shake it, and his eyes widened in dumbfounded guilt at having been caught red-handed.

"Harold Hill!" she exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth. "You're behaving just like a child!" Shaking her head, she strode across the room to snatch the present from his hand – though she couldn't keep from laughing all the while.

"Forgive me, Marian," Harold replied with a grin. "But you've set up such a lovely display here, I simply couldn't resist investigating – I've never had a Christmas like this!"

"This is Christmas _Eve_," she said, folding her arms primly. "Your presents will keep for a few more hours!"

After getting up from the floor, Harold gave his wife an apologetic kiss on the cheek as he passed by on his way to take a seat on the sofa.

"I don't mean to be melodramatic, but, well, I've never had much of a Christmas at all," he told her with a shrug of his shoulders. "So, I'm naturally a bit overexcited about this year."

"Never?" Marian asked softly, her heart growing heavy at his words. "Not even when you were little?"

"Oh, we don't need to talk about this now," Harold insisted hastily with a wave of his hand. "No need to ruin such a joyous occasion with such a gloomy subject."

Still, he looked troubled, and Marian knew that he could not dismiss the matter from his mind so easily. Knowing that her beloved was upset meant that Marian couldn't get it off her mind either, and she had a strong suspicion that it would cast a shadow over their evening unless they could get it out in the open.

The librarian sat down next to him, placing a hand on his back and gazing up at him with what she hoped was a reassuring expression. "Of course we don't have to – but if you want to, I'm listening. I do want to know about you, Harold, even if it's not always pleasant."

"It might take a few minutes –"

"I have time."

After several moments of uncertain silence, Harold sighed, took her hand, and began to speak, his eyes gazing off into the lit fireplace.

"Christmas never went too well for me when I was a boy. It was rare that my mother could afford to spare a cent for gifts, and even on Christmas Day she had to work, so we didn't even get the small luxury of spending a day together. My mother really did try to do her very best for me, but an unmarried woman with a young child and no family that would acknowledge her could only do so much. I knew I shouldn't be greedy, that Christmas was supposed to be about being grateful that one had a mother at all – but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt when all the other kids went running around with their new playthings and asking me what I'd gotten. I guess Christmas wasn't much different than any other day for me, but I never enjoyed the constant reminders that for everybody else, it was something wonderful.

"And after my mother died and I left home for good, I was on my own in the world. Christmas means very little to a person whom nobody cares about, and who doesn't have anybody to care for in return. Marcellus and I did have a few Christmases together when we were last working as partners about ten years ago, and I think we must have bought each other ties or something. But I'd say that was the extent of my Christmas experiences in the past couple decades. I've always thought the _idea _of Christmas was admirable, enviable, even – but I had to accept that it would never be for me, that it's one of those things that you give up when you decide to make a living as a fly-by-night swindler.

"Maybe some years Christmas did bring me a little happiness, but for the wrong reasons, believe me. One year ago tonight, I went to sleep on a train in Illinois with a hundred dollars of stolen money in my pocket, leaving behind a backwater town full of little boys who were about to get their hearts broken when they learned that the Christmas concert I promised them would never happen – and I was _happy_. I was proud of my work. Christmas is a fine season for taking folks for every buck they have, and last year I did even better than usual. So, merry Christmas to me," he stated with rueful bitterness.

"I suspect that this year would have been much the same, most likely every year for the rest of my life, if things hadn't changed. Someday, too late, I might have realized that I wasn't really happy, but what could I do about it then but wallow in self-pitying misery? That would have been my Christmas Yet to Come – I was reading _A Christmas Carol _last week and I couldn't believe how much I could identify with old Scrooge at the end of the story. It's just that instead of a vision of the terrible future that I needed to avoid, what it took to change me was a vision of the beautiful future I _could_ have. There was a line in that book that so resonated with me, I read it over and over until I had it memorized: '_Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.'_

"If it weren't for you, I never would have departed from my course, and I would have always remained the man I was. But now, thanks to you, I have a second chance at life – and just by doing my best at being a husband to you, and being a part of your family and this town, I feel like I can somehow atone for all of the horrid things I've ever done, like maybe I can make up for the lives I've ruined by making just a few lives as wonderful as I can. I don't deserve that chance, you and me and God all know that, and yet you gave it to me anyway. I can't do anything but spend my whole life thanking you for that."

After he had finished speaking, the reformed con man gazed questioningly at his wife, his expression pensive and ashamed. It looked as though he were prepared for her to scold him or worse, and he seemed genuinely startled when she embraced him instead.

"Harold," Marian sighed as she clung to his arm, her eyes welling up. "Thank you so much for sharing all of that with me. I know it must be hard for you to talk about, but it truly means so much to me. You have my promise that you'll never have a reason to be anything but happy about Christmas."

"I will be happy," Harold promised her in earnest as he wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumbs. "I'm already happier than I ever imagined was possible. I couldn't have imagined that I'd be here like this today – I certainly had no idea that I'd stumble into a little town in Iowa and find the woman of my dreams."

At that, Marian couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little. "What dreams?" the librarian asked with a wry smile. "You were hardly the romantic type before we fell in love – in fact, I believe the very last thing you would've dreamed about is what we have together!"

"Well, maybe I didn't actually _have_ those dreams, but they were there," he insisted. "Strictly speaking, I don't know if I had any dreams, not in the long term. Money is nice enough, but it doesn't give you something to live for. I didn't think I did, but I _needed _somebody to live for, somebody who could show me a reason to be more than a low-life crook."

Marian shook her head in modesty, well aware that she didn't really deserve all this praise. "I'm happy that – that I could do that for you, but you need to remember that I didn't do a thing. I didn't make you good or make you honest, nor could I have done so – you already were, and you chose to be that way again."

Taking her small hands in his own, Harold gazed into his wife's trusting eyes with that look of vulnerable sincerity that he only wore when he truly bared his soul to her. "Then, thank you for being your wonderful self, my dear little librarian. Thank you for being the woman who could make me want to be that way."

In the absence of any words that could convey the depth of emotion that swelled in her heart, Marian could only express herself by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Although their embrace was chaste at first, it didn't take long before the awakening of their ever-present passion urged them closer, and they clung together fiercely, sinking back onto the couch until she was laying beneath him. Gradually their kisses grew deeper and faster, and Marian fidgeted desperately underneath him as she tried to press as tightly against him as she could manage. She trembled as she felt Harold's warm hand trail down her side until he could caress the curve of her hip – and then, before things could go too far, he suddenly broke off their kiss and pulled back. Marian blinked several times as she tried to gather her thoughts, utterly disoriented by desire. Her heart was pounding, and she was pressed close enough to Harold's chest that she could tell that his was doing the same.

Her husband gazed down at her, amorous mischief glinting in his eyes. "You know, you've changed as well, Miss Marian – especially in the past few weeks."

As he gently helped her up to a sitting position, Marian gazed at him and blushed. "How so?" she demurred coyly while smoothing her skirt.

"Well, I would like to point out that I didn't do a thing to make you such a naughty, passionate little minx – you already were, and you just didn't realize it!"

Though her blush grew even deeper, Marian gave her husband a flirtatious smile. "Yes, I suppose I was – but I'd guess you're awfully happy that I realized it because of _you_."

"Oh, I sure am," he murmured, leaning down to place a hard, wet love bite on her neck, then running his finger possessively over the small mark his mouth had left. "And nobody but me gets to know what's underneath those high collars of yours these days..."

He resumed kissing her neck in earnest, and Marian melted beneath his ministrations, willingly tilting her head back to give him easier access. "Why – why did you stop us, before?" she asked, not caring just now about the impropriety of her bold request. "You don't usually..."

Ceasing his caresses, Harold laughed and used a finger under her chin to turn her face to his. "Well, putting a stop to _that _was easily the last thing I wanted to do, but we aren't exactly at leisure to do what we please just yet. How soon you forget – you have cookies in the oven, dear!"

"Oh, my!" With a gasp, she turned her eyes to the clock on the parlor wall – indeed, it was almost time to take the cookies out of the oven, the entire house smelled of gingerbread – and she had been so preoccupied with their canoodling that she had _forgotten_?

Heaven help her if _Harold_ was going to start being the practical one in this marriage...

xxx

When Marian returned to the kitchen, she found, as she had expected, that the timer was nearly on its last seconds. As she took her oven mitts from the drawer, she could hear Harold's footsteps entering the room as well.

"Not to be immodest about my own baking, but these cookies look like they came out well," she remarked. "They really do smell delicious."

She was almost unsurprised when her music professor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, bestowing languid, open-mouthed kisses upon her neck.

"_You're _delicious," he murmured, his voice near to a growl. "I could just eat you up, you know that?"

"Harold!" she scolded with a laugh. "Aren't you the one that sent me in here? If you don't let me take our cookies out of the oven very shortly, we are going to have an unpleasant situation on our hands."

"I can wait, then," he told her with childish petulance. "But then those cookies are going to have to cool – and they will be perfectly fine if we leave them alone for a good, long while."

His seduction was rather undercut by the shrill ringing of the timer, but he remained by her side, gazing avidly at her as she bent to take the cookie sheet from the oven. As she laid it on the counter to cool, Harold pressed his mouth to her ear, his breath tickling her and making her shiver.

"Now, those'll be good to eat after we've worked up a bit of an appetite..." he teased, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

"My goodness, _Harold_!" she cried out with a peal of shocked laughter – but her hands were already starting to tremble a little with desire as she pulled off the oven mitts.

As soon as they were back in the parlor, Harold turned to his wife with a ravenous grin, looking poised to pull her right into his arms and continue what they had started a few minutes ago. Marian would have eagerly acquiesced, but she still had the nagging feeling they had left an even more important matter unfinished, and it prickled uncomfortably at her conscience. So, much to the music professor's amusement and disappointment, she dodged his arms before he could entangle her in an embrace.

"Sweetheart, what are you –"

She raised a hand to silence him. "Wait, Harold – I want to give you something."

Marian picked up a red-wrapped shirt box from beneath the tree and handed it to her husband, who stared at her in confusion.

"You want me to open this now? You said that I should be patient enough to wait for the morning..."

"I know, but it's just that – well, if you really haven't gotten a Christmas present in ten years, I think you deserve one a little early."

Shaking his head, Harold pushed the present back into her hands. "Oh, Marian, you know I wasn't trying to guilt you into this because of what I said before. I'm not that childish – I'll wait, really."

"No, I want you to have it," she urged. "I'll feel so much better if you do. This one might be better for you to open at night, anyway." Taking his hand, she led him toward the sofa, and they sat down together, Marian placing the box in his lap.

"Merry Christmas, Harold," she told him with a warm smile. "Now, why don't you open it?"

"Well, if I have to," he laughed with mock reluctance; it seemed that the excitement of receiving a present had already outweighed his all attempts at polite protest.

Tearing away the paper and opening the box with his usual boisterous haste, Harold grinned when he caught sight of what she had given him – a set of luxurious royal blue pajamas.

"Now I see what you meant, that it would be better at night," he said as he ran his hand along the smooth fabric. "Thank you, darling! These are far nicer than any nightclothes that I own – it was never much of a priority of mine to invest much money in clothes that I wouldn't wear in public."

"I could tell – that's why I bought them," Marian admitted. "A lot of your nightclothes seem rather, well, _worn_, and you bought me so many on our honeymoon that it wouldn't be right not to return the favor! I know it's a little dull and practical, but I thought I should save the important things for Christmas Day. I don't know, maybe I should have picked a better one for your first present in ten years..."

"It's wonderful," Harold maintained firmly. "My first Christmas present in ten years was a thoughtful gift given out of love by my adoring, adorable wife, and that would have been the same no matter which one you chose to give me first. I can't ask for anything better than that."

Marian gave him a bright smile, hugging him and planting a quick kiss on his lips. "Oh, thank you, Harold. I do have some more exciting and meaningful presents for you, of course – but for those you _will _have to wait until morning."

A sly, scheming expression spread across Harold's face, and he stood up to locate another present. "I don't mind waiting – but as long as we're doing this, I happen to have a present for you that I think we might enjoy if you opened it tonight." When he returned to the couch, he handed his wife a light package wrapped in holly-patterned paper.

"We?" she inquired, frowning in confusion at his choice of pronoun.

"Just open it, darling," he told her, already smiling with self-satisfaction over his own cleverness.

Marian's eyes grew huge as she opened the box, and she couldn't help but gasp a little. She had been expecting some sort of nightwear, but what Harold had bought her was finer than any lingerie that she had seen before – as well as a good deal scantier.

She could feel her cheeks turning pink as she stood up and held the pale green nightgown up to her body. She had thought the nightgown that she had purchased for their wedding night to be quite daring, and the ones that he had bought for her in Des Moines had turned out to be even more so, but this was in a different class entirely. It was short enough that if she wore drawers underneath it, they would scarcely have been concealed at all – and she was reasonably certain that she was _not _intended to wear drawers underneath it.

"It's a gorgeous nightgown, but a girl might get the wrong idea about your intentions!" she laughed.

In response, Harold took her small hands in his own and pulled her right into his lap, his eyes already dark with passion. His strong arms wound around her back and her waist, holding her firmly in place.

"The _wrong _idea? Did I not make my intentions entirely clear to you in the kitchen?" His mouth was right next to her ear, the vibrations of his low baritone sending delightful shivers through her body.

She turned to face him, raising an eyebrow in amusement as she laid an open palm on his chest. "Yes, Professor, I got the distinct impression that you intended to have your way with me."

"Why, Madam Librarian, what a thing to say!" While Harold adopted a wounded expression, his hands were at that very moment moment caressing her in ways that indicated that he was not apologetic in the least. "You know I'd have no objections to _you_ having your way with _me_..."

Marian's blush grew even deeper as she tried to fathom what he might possibly mean by that – but her desire was stirred as well as her curiosity, and she was not inclined to protest. "It _is _Christmas Eve, so I suppose going to bed early is not so unusual..." she whispered, lightly running her fingers through his hair.

"Prudent, even," he replied. "If we don't get to bed soon, Santa Claus just might have to pass this house up." His mouth was set in a rigid line as he tried his best not to smile, and Marian decided to play along.

"In that case, I don't suppose we have any other choice but to go upstairs," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips, and the intensity of her longing for Harold rapidly made her forget that they had ever been joking.

In an instant her husband had risen to his feet, Marian still wrapped up in his arms. He covered her mouth with his and kissed her hard and deep, the risqué nightdress dangling from her hand as he carried her up the stairs. There was still a small part of the librarian that felt vaguely embarrassed at the idea of celebrating Christmas in such a way – but such Victorian primness was insignificant compared to the joy she felt at the prospect of spending their first holiday together in such an intimate and passionate celebration.

As Harold closed the door to their bedroom behind them, Marian wondered if they might be establishing a new Christmas Eve tradition of their own – and she realized without shame that she rather hoped that they were.


End file.
